On the Humpridge Track: Tuatapere to Port Craig

Hiking in the New Zealand bush is one of our favourite activities but our unfit Canadian winter bodies were not really ready for major tramping.

We had a plan, however.

Knowing that the NZ Department of Conservation (DOC) rates their tramping tracks, we considered our options: Walking tracks, Easy Tramping tracks, Tramping tracks, or Routes.

Plain Old Walking seemed a bit tame even for a first outing so we sought some Easy Tramping on the flatter bits of the Humpridge Track,  We discovered that it is possible to combine a walk along the South Coast Track (from Tuatapere to Port Craig) with the bit of the Humpridge that goes from the hut at Port Craig to Waitutu Lodge, and in the process, skip the hump.  It would only take two days and we could return on a jet boat.

That all sounded like fun, but I was anxious. There would be a lot of tramping:  18 kms the first day and then 16 kms.  And we had to carry packs.  I hadn't carried a pack since last August.



Those packs look manageable!

Our friend Ian (who suggested this route) pointed out the "easy" aspects.  There was no major climbing -- just some up and down.  Part of the first day was on along a beach. The second day included major parts of a rail trail and several long trestles. Easy tramping for sure. Yes, we would be carrying 2 days worth of food, but the huts had well supplied kitchens.  We could leave the pots and pans at home!  We only had to stuff our backpacks with clothes, rain gear, toiletries, sleeping bags and all the dried pasta, soup mix, tinned meat, bread, peanut butter and teabags that we could find room for.

I was glad that Ros and I had purchased our supplies, carefully hefting each food item before declaring it small and portable enough to carry.  No hearvy food was coming on this trip!  No fruit cake!  No blocks of cheddar!



Off to a great start...how easy is this?

Our 18 km first day was relatively easy.  So far, so good. But our extended walk along the beach did not materialize because eventually the tide came in and pushed us up into the bush.

This was probably just as well because the beach, though beautiful, was swarming with sand flies, minuscule biting insects that are a scourge to NZ hikers.  We did have a bottle of insect repellent but it was empty.  Phooey!

As I grumped along the first bit of buggy beach I met a hiker coming the other way and grimly told her about the sand flies. But she didn't need the warning; she was prepared.  She swore by a half and half mixture of Dettol and baby oil and she gave me an extra bottle.   "You will be needing this", she assured me.  "It works, but be prepared to smell like a dispensary for the next couple of days."


Quite so.  Her concoction was soothing and it even seemed to repel the flies. (Bruce found the scent a bit repellent, too, but I was unmoved. I was the itchy one.)

There were fewer sand flies on the track above the beach, but it was hardly easy going.  The path deteriorated and became extremely muddy. We slogged on.

Just us and the sand flies.

Our squelchy track

By the time we reached Port Craig we were tired, bug bitten and dirty, and ready for a cup of tea. (NZ trampers have been know to drink other beverages, but tea is a recognized favourite.)

The harbour at Port Craig is home to dolphins

Welcome to Port Craig!.

Port Craig Hut is privately owned and more upscale than the usual DOC huts, so I should not have been surprised that tea things were ready and waiting when we arrived. Other luxuries were also on offer -- hot water, china and cutlery, pillows on the beds, and upholstered furniture in front of a gas fireplace.  The toilet block was, however, outside. One would think that for $90 we should not have had to leave the main building in order to pee and brush our teeth.

I found out the cost of this pricey accommodation after we had finished the walk.  Had I only known, I might have spent more time relaxing on that couch.  I might even have said yes to the offer of a cooked oatmeal breakfast.  But having eaten our own food for breakfast, we at least had less to carry.

On the upside, we were the only people staying at the Port Craig Hut.  Perhaps $90 for a whole house and our choice of beds wasn't too bad.



Our breakfast view at Port Craig: a tree festooned with hiking boots.

New Zealand...... Again!

In 2012 Bruce and I spent 6 weeks in New Zealand, and I wrote enthusiastically about our memorable visit.  We went hiking, visited friends and escaped the Canadian winter.  It was our longest visit since living in Wellington in the 1970's.

And now we were back again for exactly the same reasons, except this visit was 2 weeks longer and it seemed more urgent.  We are now both in our 70's. We are older and our friends are older too, so we need to do the things we love while we can.  And we love exploring this country.

On our last visit, the weather did not measure up.  New Zealand was cold and grey for much of our stay, and while the chill did not spoil our holiday it was maddening to discover that back home Ontarians were enjoying one of the balmiest winters on record.  There were days in February 2012 that were warmer in Guelph than Dunedin.

No complaints this year, however! The South Island where we were starting our visit was gloriously sunny and summery.

Dunedin is beautiful!   What a great view..

We explored Dunedin and the Otago peninsula in shirt sleeves and sun hats with our friends the Smiths and the Gibsons.  We had dinner on the deck.  We passed around sunscreen! This was not the weather we expected, but we were not complaining.

We had some South Island hiking planned and we were happy that, while we might be bit concerned about our fitness, we had no
worries about weather!


 Pre- hike training on a tussocky windy hill above Boulder Beach

Loving (and Leaving) Spain

I had not expected to enjoy my time in Spain a much as I did.  (We had, after all chosen this holiday only because a friend had a conference to attend.) But love it, I did, although in two weeks there is only so much you can experience.  I am already making a list for next time: hike in the Sierra Madres, watch a flamenco performance, visit the Gaudi (art gallery) in Barcelona.  "Attend bull fight" does not make the cut.  Back in 1964 on my only other visit to Spain (with my friend Loretta) we went to a bull fight and walked out half-way through.  We knew that, one way or the other, things were not going to end well.  

In no particular order, then, this was I most appreciated about this endlessly interesting county:

The People.  I feel so embarrassed even admitting this, but having read our Rick Steeves' guidebook, I was prepared for a nation of pickpockets and thieves.  That tamper-proof man-bag that Bruce carried?  We could have saved our money.  (True, a gypsy woman in Granada tried to give us a sprig of rosemary but we rejected her overture and she moved on.)

The Spaniards we met were lovely.  They were especially tolerant of our fumbling attempts to communicate, and on one occasion came to my rescue as I tried to buy a cup of coffee on a train. A woman passenger had been standing near me in the cafe as I made inquiries about taking a coffee back to my seat.  When the barista seemed completely puzzled by the question, I shrugged my shoulders and went back empty handed.  But then the woman found me, offered to help, and we returned to the coffee bar.  Yes, beverages can be consumed anywhere on a train. But it is worth making the inquiry (even in fractured Spanish) just so you can meet fellow passengers.

The Sun. I love, love love Spanish sunshine.  It seemed more concentrated, more golden somehow than the September sun we left behind in Ontario. No wonder Brits and Northern Europeans have such affection for this country.

Omnipresent Embellishment. Spaniards have a wonderful sense of style, and it seems to me they are happiest when their surroundings are as beautiful as possible. And this applies to everything: buildings, gardens, cement walls, toilet rolls -- all deserve an extra flourish. 

This pretty church is right beside the Prado.

.

Fanned toilet paper seems so Spanish !

    

There are no boring Spanish walls.

The Food.  In truth, we had some really dreadful food when we first arrived in Spain. A dessicated paella full of empty shells will be long remembered for all the wrong reasons. But in the north while we were hiking, we ate very well.  I especially liked the fabada, a delicious bean soup which we enjoyed in several variations.  And our meals seemed to improve throughout the holiday. The final dinner in an airport hotel outside Madrid was top notch.

A tapas market in Madrid offers olives of all sorts.

National Values.  It took the entire holiday to appreciate that Spanish clocks seems to tick at a different pace.  Breakfast is not at the crack of dawn.  A leisurely lunch is acceptable, and shops may close from 12 to 2 in order to facilitate this practice.  These are the habits of a very sociable people who make time for one another.  They value what is really important and enjoy the company of family and friends -- for a drink, a stroll, or a late dinner. And when they get together, they talk.  They are not forever checking their cell phones or texting.

Do things move more slowly in Spain? Here is the evidence: a WALK sign in Bilbao.

***

We took another train from Granada back to Madrid for our return flight, and this time I confidently ordered cafe con leche and took it back to my seat. We watched the Andalusian countryside whizz by -- olive grove, after olive grove, after olive grove. (Surely the Spanish economy must bob along on a sea of olive oil?  Not so, according to Rick Steeves, although olives are a significant crop.)

From the train: olive trees as far as the we can see.

   
Back in Madrid on our last night in Spain I wanted to check one more fact in our Steeves' guide.  But when I rummaged through our backpacks, the book was nowhere to be found.  I must have left it on the train.  Call it kismet.

I bet that another English speaking tourist claimed our abandoned Steeves, and that the book has enjoyed many other Spanish adventures.  I only hope that the new owner didn't' take the advice to guard against pickpockets too seriously.  I wish had written a note (Not in our experience!) in the margins.   

Moorish Granada: Alhambra and Albayzin

Granada must surely have the most interesting history of any city in Spain. A last bastion of the Moors in Europe, the city succumbed in 1492 to the armies of the Reconquista,  The Spanish-style Crusade had finally won back the entire Iberian peninsula.  It only took 700 years.

Ferdinand and Isabella (yes, that Ferdinand and Isabella) were the lucky monarchs to enjoy the spoils, and they did, indeed.  Recognizing a good thing in Granada's beautiful Moorish fortress. the Alhambra, they moved right in.  They left the Albayzin, the nearby Muslim quarter, untouched but were not quite so tolerant of its non-Catholic residents.. Conquered Muslims and Jews either converted to Catholicism, fled to North Africa, or risked torture. (Today, tourists wander the streets of Granada admiring its Muslim past, and give very little thought to the horrors of the Inquisition. It is so much pleasanter to conjure Scheherazade-like fantasies as one explores the Alhambra in its park-like setting.)

We walked to the Alhambra and passed this lovely old gate.

Our well-situated hotel was within walking distance of the Alhambra, and we also lucked out with entrance tickets, booking the last 4 available at 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. But we didn't really appreciate the benefit of an early visit until we passed the hot and cranky afternoon line-ups as we were leaving.  Arriving at 10:00 to explore the grounds, we had found this tourist mecca relatively free of tourists!  There is nothing that spoils a world-famous beauty spot (and UNESCO World Heritage Site) like hordes of other admirers.  A morning visit also guarantees cooler temperatures.

That couple at the far end?  They are likely saying "Wow!  There is no one here.  Let's take a picture!"

The Alhambra is not grandiose, but it is very beautiful. Although it was a palace (as well as a fortress) the palatial aspects are best typified not by size or magnificence, but by the elegant, intricate design that incorporates water (in fountains and pools), gardens and opportunities for shade.

Ornament is everything.

A raggy-looking shrub would be so wrong in this space.

Tourists, at last.  They are admiring the Lion Fountain.

Entrance to the Alhambra includes access to the abundant gardens, and one of the prettiest is the Generalife which surrounds a summer palace. It is a beautiful spot and makes one want to rush home to dig water features and plant bougainvillea everywhere. (Though lilacs might be a better choice in southern Ontario.)

The summer palace.  A lone photographer is taking our picture just as we take his.

We took in the Albayzin, another World Heritage Site , on a very warm afternoon and once again we among just a few tourists.  Perhaps they did not relish an uphill slog.  We didn't mind, and we found it interesting to wander through what remained of the old Moorish quarter on our way to the destination lookout, the Plaza of St. Nicolas.

St. Nicolas Church was once a mosque.

A court of mosaic stone in the Albayzin market place. 

The Albayzin may be a "heritage area", but it is also a living neighbourhood.  There are bars, restaurants and shops, and vehicles parked outside homes and apartments. But the Moorish influence is unmistakable, even in Catholic churches that began life as mosques.  Our Rick Steeves' guide mentions 20 mosques in this area that got a Christian makeover, but we only saw two or three.

A busy, un-Medeival market in the Albayzin.

 

St Nicolas Plaza offers a lovely view of the Alhambra.  Everyone else thinks so too.

Lost in Granada

Granada was so consumed by the 20th International Congress of Nutrition that we felt enormously grateful to have found a tiny out-of-the-way hotel, a last minute hotwire choice that was far from the conference centre.

But we had lucked out. The 3-storey Arabeluj was a charming boutique hotel perched on a hillside.  A terrace, perfect for breakfast and end-of-the-day-tapas, overlooked the city.

From the terrace at dusk.

The Arabeluj was also within walking distance of the Alhambra and most everything else listed in our Rick Steeves' Guide.  That the walking was entirely uphill (or completely down, depending on your direction), was of no matter: we had Picos' mountain-walking experience.

Granada's houses are built on hillsides. 

Shamelessly clutching our city map, we set out through streets that are narrow, twisting and poorly marked.




It is very easy to get lost in Granada. And we did.  Frequently.

Don't be fooled.  Bruce is lost.

But getting lost does have its advantages. We discovered, by accident, aspects of Granada that are not in any guidebook. We observed uniformed  private school students arriving at wrought-iron gates in fancy cars.  We followed elderly nuns as they went shopping.  We saw Spanish families out for a Sunday afternoon stroll.

Having left the convent, this nun is now going to the butchers...

...followed by six knowing cats.  (Two are already around the corner!)

Three generations enjoy family time ( and dressing up).

We found parks and fountains, tiny courtyards, and an abundance of graffiti.  For whatever reason, every wall and building appears to be some sort of public palette.  Graffiti are everywhere!

This grafitti-ed corner was right by our hotel as we walked into town.

Not all graffiti was attractive.

There are plenty of graffiti on abandoned buildings, and we saw a few of those.  The economic downturn has not been kind to Spain.

Abandoned office block in central Granada.

One of the largest empty office towers once housed a bank.  It is right beside a favourite downtown meeting place (and bus stop),  Plaza de Isabel la Catolica.

You would think this plaza would be easy to find -- it is beautiful, large, central, and the statue of Isabella, Ferdinand and Columbus is tall and impressive.  But it is not the only imposing plaza in central Granada.   After three days we finally learned to walk there without having to backtrack or go once more around the block!
  

Plaza de Isabel la Catolica.  Guess which is the empty building?  The new (ugly) one.  

  

And Now, Bilbao

There was a time when tourists avoided the port city of Bilbao--if they knew about it at all. Back in 1964 on my first visit to Spain, it was certainly not on my radar.  

Then in 1997, along came architect Frank Gehry with a building that looked like a futuristic origami project made of aluminum foil.  Now, if you announce "Our next stop is Bilbao", everyone knows you aren't going to the city.  You are going to the art gallery, aka Guggenheim Bilbao.

And from the Picos, it is a short hop. If you get all the connections lined up, it takes about 4 hours or less.  We however did not have such luck, and wound up having to wait for three hours in Llanes.  
We could have done worse.  This little port city is quite picturesque, so we wandered around, camera at the ready.

Llanes

By the time we got to Bilboa, it was late afternoon.  But we were not deterred.  Our hotel was close to the Guggenheim, and since we were in Spain, we knew that we would not be late for dinner even if we turned up at 9:30.  We had plenty of time to thoroughly explore the art gallery and its environs. before searching out a restaurant.

We discovered, en route to the holy grail of galleries, that the city has happily embraced its arty side. 

"Bilbao"

We couldn't help but think that the Toronto waterfront could use this sort of upgrade.  The walk to the Guggenheim gallery is beautiful, and features gardens, sculptures, and interesting civic architecture.

Puppy, covered with living flowers, greets gallery goers.

I love this sculpture!

No ordinary bridge...this is one is gallery-worthy 

Even downtown Bilboa seems to know it should look good for visitors.

Early Sunday morning in Bilbao.

Take time to admire the city...and while you're at it, amble across the intersection!

The Final Hike!

If we wanted to complete the circuit and get back Arenas, we first needed to find our way to Poncebos where the S-cape van would pick us up.

We would not be taking the precipitous route down from the refuge at Urriellu, however.  We would take the long route down -- one that went from Sotres to Poncebos (via Collado Pandebano and the tiny village of Bulnes) and to our rendezvous at the bar, Garganta del Cares) .

At Collado Pandebano again.....

On tarmac roads and farm tracks we tramped from Sotres to Pandebano. Then with Urriellu to our left,  we headed down the valley.

Down hill and into the trees and bracken...

The entire walk was about 12 kms, and although technically not difficult, it was demanding. Vague directions such as "take care not to miss fork at end of walled meadow" did not encourage appreciation of whatever vista lay ahead. (We did not miss the fork, but discovered later that others had.  We asked about their GPS.  Wasn't it working?  Yes it was.  At the bottom of a knapsack.)

Then there was the middle section of the track which our notes described as "long, steep and tedious".   And rocky.  The track was entirely composed of boulders and rough stone.  We thought it might be a stream bed, but the rocks were arranged far too regularly to have been placed there by the hand of nature. A Roman Road?  We knew that Christians hell-bent on re-claiming the Iberian peninsula from the Moors came this way on the Ruta de la Reconquista.  It tried to imagine sandled feet on this unpleasant, uneven surface.  No way. Those holy warriors must surely have ridden horses or donkeys.  (I would have gladly traded my excellent Zamberlan hiking boots for a donkey.)

This tedious trail descended downhill for several kilometres.

Tiny Bulnes has 3 bars and not much else. We noted the bars.  We did not visit them.

We arrived in Bulnes in time for lunch.  But no leisurely drinks were consumed at any of the three bars; we perched on a stone wall by the side of the trail and gobbled down our cheese sandwiches.  We needed to pick up the pace.  Bruce was absolutely convinced that we would be the very last hikers to arrive in Poncebos. We envisioned the others loping down the mountainside from Urriellu. No. They were probably already in Poncebos having a celebratory beer.  

Hop to it, Ryans!

The last four kilometres, along another spectacular gorge, were undoubtedly the best part of the walk.  The path overlooking Canal del Textu gradually descended while snaking along ledges far above the water .  It was deemed "not suitable for those afraid of heights" but we were in such a rush we hardly noticed.  We almost forgot to take pictures.

Our last descent....

The Puente del Zardo, where the trail crosses to the other side.

Just a few more steps to the Bar Garganta del Cares 

At about 3:30, we arrived at the bar expecting to join our friends. But the place was empty except for one other couple that we recognized from the hotel.    They had not come from Urreillu, nor had they walked from Sotres.  They had shortened their route somehow and were now relaxing alone at an outdoor table.

So.... where were the others?  We twiddled our fingers, we had a drink and finally we phoned S-cape and asked about the rest of our group.  No one had seen Roz and Ian or the Dutch hikers.  We all concluded that they would be picked up later since they were probably still on the trail. I generously did not make a point of discussing this detail with Bruce.

At about 6 that evening we heard Roz and Ian's story of walking directly down from Urreillu.  Of the 30 or so hikers at the refugio, they were the only ones to take this path.  Our four Dutch friends gave it a try and turned around when they came to a tricky section that involved rock-climbing down a cliff.  (No ropes. Nothing to grab onto-- just careful placing of fingers and toes. No way!)

Roz and Ian confirmed that it was a difficult, steep, badly maintained track, and that we had probably made the right decision.  The descent had taken them twice as long to complete as they had anticipated. 

But they did it!  And we were not surprised.  At 70+ they are fit and have loads of stamina. 

Yeah Gibsons!! 

Roz and Ian Gibson.  Super hikers, married 50 years!